


The Ordinary Boys

by Das_verlorene_Kind



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Halloween, Happy Ending, M/M, Patrick may or may not have something to hide, Smut, Trick Or Pete 2020, because 2020 sucks enough already, there are some misunderstandings, there's cute puppies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:14:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27356338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Das_verlorene_Kind/pseuds/Das_verlorene_Kind
Summary: In which Pete is curious, and Patrick likes to keep certain things behind closed doors.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 14
Kudos: 56
Collections: Trick Or Pete 2020





	The Ordinary Boys

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, and welcome to my Trick Or Pete 2020 entry! I might be a little late for Halloween, but life is just so busy these days. Anyway, grab some leftover candy and a blanket and enjoy 15k of dumb boys falling in love, some serious misunderstandings, and Gerard Way's serial killer conspiracy theories. 
> 
> Unbeta'd because I am super late, so sorry in advance for any mistakes!  
> Thanks to the lovely Peterick community for all their support, and a special thanks to Snitches who's been nothing but supportive of this silly little idea!

It’s the end of Summer, a hint of Autumn already in the air.

Pete is a teacher, just started his new job, and he’s moved for work – moved outside the school district, to be exact. As much as he is passionate about teaching, he doesn’t want to run into his students outside of the classroom, doesn’t want the judgy teens to see him at the park when he’s out for a jog, sweating and panting, or walks his dogs wearing his old track pants and shirts from bands older than his students, or at the grocery store register when he buys too much ice cream or worse, incriminating items such as alcohol and/or condoms. Not that he’s recently bought the latter, but that’s not the point.

The point is that Pete has found a new apartment close to work, yet far away enough, and one he actually likes. It’s nothing too fancy, but a big step up from college dorms or his last apartment, which had basically been a glorified shoe box.

Now, Pete has two bedrooms, a separate kitchen with a dining room, and there’s no cracks in the wall or mold in the shower. It’s big enough for him and for his two dogs. He’s had his dogs for about a year now, both a mix of German Shepherds and a Labrador Retreiver (and possibly some other dog), rescues from a shelter. Belka and Strelka, as he has named them, are fabulous dogs and Pete adores them very much, but they needed more space. There’s also a big park right around the corner, much to Belka and Strelka’s joy, perfect for both longer and shorter walks, and there’s even a dog park nearby for socializing. Both for the dogs, and for Pete; dogs just make it so much easier to start a conversation.

Now that the start of the school years is over and Pete has settled in, his favorite holiday is approaching – Halloween is just around the corner, and Pete is excited.

He’s already been informed that the kids living in the apartment complex will come trick or treating, and Pete is more than happy not only to hand out sweets, but to take the opportunity to decorate accordingly.

It takes a whole afternoon to set everything up.

Just as he is done, he hears steps approaching, hears a familiar female voice exclaim: “Oh, Peter, that looks stunning!”

Mrs. Davison is the wife of the superintendent. She’s a nice lady in her sixties, and has three kids Pete’s age, which is probably why she is so affectionate and motherly towards him – both by bringing him home-made banana bread when he moved in, and by politely but firmly reminding him to take out his trash and not to order pizza for dinner four times a week. Few things happen in the apartment complex escape her watchful gaze, somehow, she knows everything.

“Thank you,” Pete says as he turns to her, grinning. She’s right, it _does_ look stunning.

A black garland frames the door, adorned with all kinds of creepy decoration Pete has had laying around, there are Jack o-lanterns on the floor, spiderwebs in the corners, and a row of bats swarming the wall. Strings of lights illuminate the scenery, and there’s yellow tape with the word CAUTION in big black letters on the door. Perhaps, Pete likes to go overboard a bit, perhaps, he likes a bit of tackiness and glitter, and it’s not one of the subtle ad stylish Pinterest-worthy doors of his neighbors, but Pete is quite proud of it. And luckily, he’s managed to teach Belka and Strelka not to chew on the pumpkins or bark at the skeletons.

“The kids will love it!” Mrs. Davison pats his shoulder, and just as Pete thinks the conversation is over, she leans in a little closer.

“Have you ever met the young man across the hallway, Mr. Stump? The one in 85F?” She points down towards the anonymous rows of doors next to Pete’s. Truth is, Pete has barely met anyone, most he’s talked to his neighbors is probably a short introduction if they happen to run into each other inside the building some small talk, and the kid from the lesbian couple living one floor over him loves Pete’s dogs and has asked to pet them whenever they meet. He has no idea who lives behind the door Mrs. Davison is pointing to.

“He hasn’t decorated anything yet,” is all that comes to Pete’s mind.

Mrs. Davison shakes her head. “Oh, Mr. Stump never decorates. For any holiday. Whether it’s Halloween, or Christmas… Never.”

Perhaps, the guy doesn’t decorate for religious reasons, or it’s against his personal values, or whatever. While Pete doesn’t really understand why one wouldn’t want to have some fun on Halloween, it’s not his place to judge.

“He moved here two years ago. He has never decorated anything. He never participates in trick or treating either, or anything else we do together here. I’ve never seen him have anybody over. But the few times I talked to him, he seemed like such a nice and polite young man…” Mrs. Davison cocks her head, looks at Pete with curiosity now. “I know some of the tenants think he’s a strange recluse, but I think he just might be shy. I think that there’s good in everyone, and he deserves a chance. You’re his age, maybe it would be easier for you to talk to him? Maybe ask him if he wants to participate in our Halloween tradition this year. I don’t want to bother Mr. Stump, but he just seems so _lonely_.”

This conversation has gone into an entirely different direction than Pete expected. He’s only lived here for a few weeks, hasn’t had the chance to meet everyone yet, but that Mr. Stump does sound like a weirdo, yes.

And Pete knows what that’s like, to be the weirdo, the one people worry about, the one who doesn’t see friends or family for months as the walls close in and depression and anxiety are his fortress. He’s gotten better, he’s done the rounds of therapy and medication and he’s in a good place, he has a stable life and Belka and Strelka as well as a human support system, but oh, he knows all-too well what it was like to have nothing except raging cold fear and agonizing apathy.

Sympathy for the unknown Mr. Stump grows in Pete, and he decides to agree, to at least see if he’s right, if maybe, he really can offer some support. Maybe, there’s more to the guy.

So, Pete nods, a smile on his lips as he answers: “Sure, I’ll go talk to him.”

As it turns out, talking to Mr. Stump is more difficult than expected.

Next time Pete goes for a walk with his dogs, he decides to stop by the mysterious apartment door. The dogs are always a good conversation starter, usually ease Pete’s own anxieties as well.

Pete knocks, no answer. He rings the doorbell, several times, to no answer. He shrugs it off. Mr. Stump could not be home, he could be at work or grocery shopping or whatever else people do.

Pete tries his luck three more times. In the morning, the afternoon, and in the evening – nothing. No one opens the door. Silence is all that greets Pete as he stares at the anonymous, innocuous white apartment door, looking no different than all the other doors save for the lack of seasonal decoration.

Lesser people would give up and accept that Mr. Stump does not want to be contacted, and wouldn't bother with the man who apparently doesn’t want to be bothered. But Pete is persistent, and by now, he’s curious – he’d like an answer, any answer, even if it’s a _no_ or a _go away_. A good old-fashioned letter is the solution Pete settles on. Just to explain that Pete is new in the neighborhood, to ask if Mr. Stump wants to participate in Halloween this year, or maybe wants to donate some sweets.

Pete takes his time to write it, even asks Joe, one of his colleagues he’s made friends with, to proofread it. Joe deems the elegant and eloquent wording unnecessarily flowery and rolls his eyes at the Wentzian wit, but ultimately approves (and agrees on Halloween being awesome). Gerard, the local art teacher, agrees that Halloween is awesome and that penmanship is a lost art.

“But this dude sounds really strange. Like, this gives me some serial killer vibes, doesn’t it,” Gerard also says with a slightly disturbing lack of worries, like he encounters people like that all the time. Maybe, he does – either way, he doesn’t seem bothered at all. “You know? Never heard, never seen, just trying to live an ordinary life among the normal people, but there’s just something _off_ …”

Joe rolls his eyes at Gerard, shakes his head. “I’m sure you confuse that with how the students talk about _you._ ”

Pete laughs, and Gerard’s overdramatic words are soon forgotten. After one last failed attempt to talk to Mr. Stump face to face, Pete throws the letter into his mailbox, and waits.

  
Next day, when Pete’s doorbell rings, he doesn’t think much of it. He shushes Belka and Strelka’s barks, and orders them to sit.

A man stands in front of his door, and he’s holding neither takeout food nor a parcel, so he has to be here on a personal matter. He’s small, smaller than Pete even, dark-blond hair peeking out from under a fedora of all things, big blue eyes behind black-framed glasses looking at Pete with nervousness, his (very pretty) lips parted, without saying a word. He’s wearing a red cardigan with slightly too-long sleeves, revealing only the tips of his fingers that hold up a piece of paper in front if him, like a shield.

It takes a moment, but Pete realizes that piece of paper is the letter he wrote yesterday, and that man has to be the mysterious Mr. Stump. He clears his throat, and decides to try and break the ice. “Hey there. I’m Pete. You’re Mr. Stump, I suppose?”

“Ah, just Patrick is enough,” the man answers in a soft, melodic voice. “Pleased to meet you. I, uhm. I got your letter, and…”

Patrick trails off, looks away, lower lip caught between his teeth. For a moment, awkward silence fills the air. Pete has to admit, he’s surprised that after several unsuccessful attempts to meet him at his own apartment, Patrick showed up at Pete’s the day after he got the letter.

Pete clears his throat again, feels his own nervousness creep up on him. “Yeah. Pleased to meet you as well. I hope it’s alright that I wrote you, it’s just that you weren’t home when I tried to talk to you.”

“It’s fine. Thank you. For reaching out. It’s just...” Again, Patrick trails off, but it seems like he wants to say something, so Pete waits, patiently. “It’s just that I’m not hugely into decorating. And I’m – I’m sorry, but I can’t participate in trick or treating. But I’d really like to donate some sweets.”

“You don’t have to,” Pete assures him. “I didn’t mean to pressure you.”

Patrick shakes his head. “You didn’t. I know I don’t have to, but I very much want to.”

As far as Pete can judge, Patrick means what he says. He doesn’t seem like the type to lie, especially when he could’ve just thrown the letter away and never even bothered in the first place. He also hasn’t tried to murder Pete, so there goes Gerard’s theory.

Behind Pete, Belka and Strelka bark again, worried why their owner is talking to a stranger at the door for so long. Startled by the noise, Patrick takes a step back.

“Oh, don’t be afraid. It’s just my two dogs being a bit overprotective,” Pete explains as he turns to them. “It’s fine girls, I’m not getting hurt. Patrick is our new neighbor, and he just wants to talk.”

The dogs do calm down and so does Patrick, who, after his initial shock, perks up now. “So, you have dogs?”

“Yeah, two of them. You wanna meet them?”

“I’d like that,” Patrick says softly.

Pete calls for the Belka and Strelka, and they happily join him, ears perked up, curious who might be the strange man standing in the doorway. At the sight of the two big dogs, Patrick’s confidence falters again, and he takes another small step back. He’s not the first person to feel intimidated by the large and somewhat unusual looking dogs.

“Really, you don’t need to be afraid. These are Belka and Strelka. They’re German Shepherd mixes – I was told there was a Labrador involved, but it’s possible other breeds could be in their pedigree. But they’re the sweetest dogs you can imagine. You can pet them if you want to, they won’t bite or bark.”

Slowly, very slowly, Patrick extends his hand, still half-hidden by the cardigan, and Pete almost expects him to flinch away when Strelka’s nose bops against the tips of his fingers to sniff.

Instead, a smile tugs at the corner of Patrick’s lips. He’s overly careful as he pets the two dogs, like they might flee should he make the tiniest wrong movement. Pete watches them, a smile on his face as well. He has to admit, it’s not just his dogs that look adorable right now.

“They’re so cute!” Patrick exclaims when he turns to Pete, and the hint of nervousness in his voice is replaced with genuine affection as he continues to pet the dogs. “Ah, I love dogs! I’ve wanted one for a while, but it’s just not a good point in my life, and...”

Embarrassed, Patrick turns away again, leaves the sentence unfinished. It seems like a personal manner, one he doesn’t want to reveal to Pete, not surprising given they just met. Pete isn’t one to pry. Although, looking at how happy Patrick is to be around the two dogs, there’s another question he wants to ask.

“Hey, Patrick. We were just about to go on a walk. Wanna come with us?”

Belka and Strelka perk up already at the word walk. Patrick hesitates, takes a moment to think. “Uhm, really? Is that okay with you?”

Pete chuckles. “Of course. That’s why I offered.”

A small smile spreads over Patrick’s face again, lights up his pretty blue eyes when he says: “Then yes. Yes, I’d very much like to…”

While Patrick heads back to his apartment to grab a jacket, Pete gets the dogs ready and grabs everything else he needs, and then, they wait. They wait, and they wait far longer than they should given Patrick just needs a jacket and his apartment is just down the floor. Maybe, Pete tries to reason with himself, he’s looking for something, his phone or his wallet…

Just as Pete wants to give up and is almost ready to accept that Patrick didn’t actually want to take him up on the very spontaneous and perhaps a bit too intruding offer, he hears steps outside. A moment later, Patrick appears in the doorway again, in a leather jacket and a scarf, with reddened cheeks and excitement in his voice. “I’m ready to go!”

Pete grins, and forgets all his worries. “Then let’s go.”

Fall is cold in Chicago, the wind tugging at them, the dark gray of the clouds in the sky promising rain soon. Belka and Strelka are just happy to go on a walk and have the attention of two people on them. They take the usual route through the park, through an alley of red and golden trees, the autumn leaves sprinkled on the pavement.

“Your dogs have interesting names,” Patrick says as they stroll through the park.

Pete nods; it’s not the first time he’s heard that comment. “I named after Belka and Strelka, the first two dogs who traveled to space and returned alive – in fact, the first Earth-born creatures at all to go into orbit and return alive.”

“That’s a cute idea!” Patrick smiles as he looks over to the two dogs, and Pete thinks he could get used to that sight. For now, Pete is content with that, he doesn’t want to give more than his standard answer that can just pass as quirky, doesn’t want to talk about the black void and returning from seemingly endless dark spaces and metaphors in dog names. All that is a little too personal, and a little too bleak for such a lovely autumn day.

“So, you’re not a Halloween fan?” Pete asks as casually as possible.

Patrick shrugs half-heartedly. “I don’t mind Halloween. It has its charm, I’ve enjoyed it even after I was too old for trick or treating myself. I’m just not big on the whole… Well, _effort_ that festivities take.” He pauses, then adds: “And I’m probably working, anyway.”

It sounds like an excuse Patrick has given before; not necessarily a lie, per se, just a small part of a bigger truth. It sounds personal, and Patrick doesn’t look like he wants to talk about it any further, so Pete decides to drop the topic.

All in all though, Patrick is surprisingly easy to talk to. And when they don’t talk, the silence between them feels strangely comfortable. Pete finds out that Patrick works at a record store and also gives lessons in pretty much every conventional instrument available. Patrick’s eyes light up when he talks about music, the corners of his lips curled into a smile in the same way they do whenever he pets the dogs, and Pete tells himself that’s not the reason he suddenly feels so warm inside.

Patrick also takes a very cute picture of Belka and Strelka, a colorful little autumn tableau captured by his phone’s camera. “Hey, that’s adorable,” Pete tells him when Patrick shows it to him. “Oh, if you wanna post it somewhere, go ahead. Everyone likes cute puppies.”

“I’m not posting it anywhere. I’m not really active on social media...” Patrick blushes a little when he adds: “I – I could send it to you, if you want?”

And of course, Pete wants that. Both because it’s an adorable picture (and really, who could resist cute puppies) and because it’s a very casual way to get Patrick’s phone number. Whether that was intentional or not, Pete doesn’t ask.

They walk, they talk, play with the dogs – Pete is having a good time. He’s having a really good time. He hasn’t expected this strange neighbor to be so, well, friendly and accessible. He’s definitely not as shy as Mrs. Davison made him out to be. Who knows, maybe Patrick really wasn’t home whenever Pete tried to reach out to him, there’s probably a perfectly reasonable explanation. Maybe, the friendly old lady just got a wrong impression. And whatever Gerard has been fantasizing about sounds more like a bad movie plot and less like the prosaic reality they all actually live in.

Maybe, Pete thinks, they really could be friends.

“That was nice,” Patrick says when they’re back home, standing in front of Pete’s apartment. The dogs have noticed that the other human that took a walk with them is more than eager to hand out pats and treats, and are a lot more relaxed.

“We should do that again,” Pete offers before he can overthink it. “If you want to, I mean. The dogs are always happy to have someone to play with.”

“I would like that.” Patrick blushes, an adorable red spreading over his cheeks once more as he adds: “And not just because of the dogs.”

Patrick makes good on his promise, sends Pete the photo, and they do text a little. Just a casual chat, Pete is holding back and holding off on sending weird texts at 3AM when he can’t sleep, they just met and he doesn’t want to scare Patrick away before they have a chance to really get to know each other. He likes Patrick, hasn’t given much thought of whether perhaps he might grow to more than simply like him even, that’s a concern for another day – he just likes him, he’s enjoyed their time together, and it would be nice to see him again.

And the next day, when Pete comes home from work, Patrick actually takes him up on the offer – a few minutes later, he’s knocking on Pete’s door, dressed and ready for an afternoon walk. The air smells like rain, but the golden autumn sun has won over the clouds, the last rays of daylight falling through the branches as they stroll through the park.

They play fetch with Belka and Strelka, the two dogs more than eager for some attention and exercise, and afterwards, they get coffee to keep warm.

Patrick seems to have fun. Patrick seems to enjoy talking to Pete. Patrick seems to be happy, and not just because he got to hand out with two adorable German Shepherd mixes.

Talking to Patrick is easy. Spending time with Patrick is fun. It becomes a routine that Pete is looking forward to.

“Yeah, he really does sound cute.” Bebe takes a big sip from her coffee, looks at Pete with big eyes in a failed attempt to look innocent. Her lipstick leaves a stain of blood-red on her cup. Bebe is one of Pete’s best friends, she’s known him for years, has gone through the bad times and the good times with him, and if Pete can tell anyone about the possibility of developing a crush on his socially awkward neighbor, it’s her.

“He _is_ cute,” Pete says stubbornly, sighs when Bebe grins at him. “It doesn’t matter though. We are still just getting to know each other. I’m not even sure if he is interested in _anyone_ , let alone me.”

“Mhm.” Bebe raises her perfectly-shaped, drawn-in eyebrows, her blood-red nails (matching the shade of her lipstick) clicking against the cup. “So, what is his deal now? Is he into Halloween or not?”

“Honestly? I’m not too sure,” Pete admits. “He is a bit hard to read sometimes.”

Pete on the other hand is not very hard to read, especially not for Bebe. But she doesn’t tease him any further, just takes another sip from her coffee, smiles at him. She knows that when Pete wants to talk, he’ll talk (and when Pete is in love, there’s going to be a lot of talking).

Right now, Pete is content with silence. But deep inside his heart, he can feel the words grow, together with the feelings he doesn’t dare to name yet.

Soon enough, they’re not just spending time outside of the house. Patrick gradually starts to hang out at his apartment, too. They meet up to talk before walking the dogs, then they meet up afterwards because they’re still so deep into their conversation, neither one of them wants it to end. After a walk where rain surprises them, Pete invites Patrick over for hot chocolate to warm up, and then next time, invites him for pizza, and then he doesn’t need even excuses anymore to have Patrick over. Having Patrick around feels nice. It feels natural, feels comfortable, whether they engage in conversation or Patrick just hangs out, plays with the dogs or tries to tune Pete’s old guitar while Pete grades papers or prepares his lessons.

“It’s a bit messy,” Pete says apologetically, like he always does, as if it came as a surprise for Patrick. It’s not as bad as his old college dorm room, just some books and papers laying around and there are dog toys (and dog hair) everywhere, and maybe Pete hasn’t put away his laundry.

“Please, Pete. I don’t mind,” Patrick says, like he always does, and he always looks adorably serious when he says it. “I like it here. Your place feels cozy.”

Belka and Strelka rush inside, and normally, Pete would suggest getting some takeout or maybe watching a movie or they’d just talk, anything. But there’s something in the way Patrick looks at him that makes Pete’s heart skip a beat, makes him forget about anything else but Patrick.

Time stands still as they look at each other, the silence between them loaded with anticipation until Patrick whispers: “I – I don’t usually do this, but...”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, not with words at least; instead, he leans in, closes the distance between them to kiss Pete.

And what a kiss it is – ah, Pete hasn’t felt this way in a long time. Patrick’s lips, plush and pink and oh so soft against his, paired with a shy hand cupping Pete’s face, a feather-light touch; Pete is stunned for a second, before he melts into the kiss, hands on Patrick’s hips now, his heart beating so fast he’s sure Patrick can hear it too.

“Can we do that again?” Pete whispers, and the tension vanishes as Patrick laughs, leans in to kiss him once more. Pete slides his hands under Patrick’s shirt, just a little, but Patrick only moans encouragingly. Pete can feel warm skin under his touch, can feel Patrick kissing him passionately, can hear Patrick moan again as he grinds closer to Pete. He’s half-hard already, his growing erection poking into Pete’s thigh.

“I want you,” Patrick whispers quietly, and coming from him, it sounds endearing and hopeful, sounds like tenderness, sounds like Patrick might want more than sex. And Pete is more than eager to find out if that’s true, they can talk about everything else afterwards, because right now, arousal clouds Pete’s brain, and the only thing he wants to do with his mouth is to suck Patrick’s dick.

Slowly, they lose their clothes, Patrick’s cute red cardigan and his shirt joining the pile of Pete’s clothes on the floor. Patrick is nervous, that much Pete can tell, being this bold really doesn’t seem to be Patrick’s usual way of handling things. But more than being nervous, Patrick is eager, he’s helping Pete undress, kisses every inch of Pete’s exposed skin, carefully, lips barely making contact; Pete lets him, doesn’t urge for more, he’s happy with anything and everything Patrick is willing to give.

They stumble into Pete’s bedroom, losing their pants along the way. Ah, and Patrick looks so beautiful, stretched out on the bed for him, a blush spreading over his face, pale skin begging to be explored by Pete’s fingers, lips, and tongue. His erection is straining against his briefs, and damn, he’s got a big dick. Pete grins, mouth watering already at the sight, and Patrick smiles back, half-nervous, half-excited, spreads his legs a little so Pete can sit in between them. And fuck, Pete can’t imagine any place he’d rather be right now.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so beautiful,” Pete whispers as he leans in, pecks a kiss to Patrick’s tempting lips. The pet name rolls off his tongue without much though, it just feels natural, and it makes Patrick blush even further. Pete trails kisses down Patrick’s throat, to his chest, thumbs over Patrick’s pink nipples, stiffening under his touch. Patrick tenses slightly when Pete turns his attention to the soft swell of his belly, so Pete decides not to push it – he’ll show his appreciation for it when Patrick feels comfortable to let him. For now, Pete trails further down, thumbs sliding under the waistband of Patrick’s briefs as Pete looks up to see how Patrick reacts.

Patrick sits up a little, hair disheveled, lips parted to groan a simple: “Pete, _please…_ ”

Well, Pete doesn’t have to be asked twice. He tugs at the waistband again, slowly pushes it down until Patrick’s cock springs free. Pete’s been right, Patrick’s got a nice dick, long and thick and blood red, curved against his stomach in anticipation to be touched. Patrick shudders, moans quietly when Pete thumbs over the velvet-smooth head.

“Are you clean?” Pete asks, more out of routine rather than real concern.

“I am,” Patrick answers breathlessly, “but you don’t have to…”

He trails off, and to answer him, Pete only leans in, licks a stripe over the shaft, grins with pride when Patrick moans again, louder and less restraint this time. Pete decides to stop the teasing, and opens his mouth to slowly take Patrick in.

Patrick’s cock is hard and hot in Pete’s mouth, tastes of salt and musk and man. One of Patrick’s hands is clutched into the sheets, the other is combing through Pete’s hair; a light, almost hesitant touch, he isn’t pulling, Patrick doesn’t seem like the type of guy to enjoy rough handling.

Pete cups his balls, trails his fingers down just a little, the though of Patrick’s tight little hole oh so close making him shiver with anticipation. He wants to lick him open, slide his tongue and fingers into him, wants to sink his cock into his wet, stretched entrance as Patrick cries out his name.

Pete tucks that fantasy away for another time, because Patrick only tenses up when Pete’s finger trails over his rim, shies away from the touch.

“Don’t,” Patrick mumbles, “I just want...”

Pete sits up a little so he can look at Patrick, hands on his thighs now. “Anything you want, baby. If you’re happy with me sucking your dick, that’s what I’ll do.”

“Yeah, that would indeed make me very happy.” Patrick relaxes, Pete can see him smile, and when Pete chuckles, Patrick laughs with him, tension forgotten.

With that, Pete leans back in, takes Patrick’s still hard dick back into his mouth, and Patrick trades words for moans again. The sounds Patrick makes are exquisite, his moans and whines and the way he whispers Pete’s name under his breath sound like a symphony to Pete’s ears. Pete reaches for his own cock, neglected between his legs, but hard and aching already; Pete gives it a few teasing tugs, moaning around Patrick’s cock when he touches himself.

Patrick stutters a warning that he’s about to come, and Pete doubles his efforts, determined to give Patrick an orgasm he won’t forget anytime soon. And when he comes, Patrick cries out something that sounds like Pete’s name, arches his back, his hand clutching into Pete’s hair as Pete swallows every last drop of him.

When Pete finally withdraws his mouth, Patrick is a shivering mess, thighs trembling under Pete’s touch, his spent cock spit-wet and softening between his legs. “Wait, let me,” he gasps nonetheless when Pete reaches for his own dick again. He expects Patrick to simply jerk him off, and is surprised – pleasantly so – when instead, Patrick motions him to lay down. Fuck, Patrick’s lips already look stunning, and even more so when they’re wrapped around Pete’s cock. Pete wants to say something clever, wants to say something that sounds hot, something about how wonderful Patrick’s mouth feels, but lust and arousal don’t leave any brain capacity for poetry. Pete comes a little too soon for his liking, unable to hold back any longer, but he gets to come onside of Patrick’s sinfully gorgeous mouth.

Afterwards, when Pete’s brain slowly starts to register reality again, he notices that Patrick is laying next to him. He looks a little less confident now, the blush on his face less caused by arousal and more born out of shyness. Pete reaches out, gently trails over Patrick’s cheek. “You were so fucking good, baby.”

“Thanks,” Patrick whispers back, and he relaxes a little. “So were you.”

A few minutes later, Patrick back in his underwear, and takes the old band shirt Pete offers him as sleepwear. Sure, Patrick’s apartment is just down the floor, but it doesn’t look like Patrick will be going home tonight.

“Pete, I really like you. I want to be with you – and _just_ you.” Patrick chuckles nervously, a warm smile left on his lips when he continues. “You’re smart, you’re funny, and you’ve been so kind and patient with me… I know I’m not the easiest guy to deal with.”

It’s Pete’s turn to chuckle as he sits down next to Patrick on the bed. “Neither am I, baby.”

Thoughtful silence follows; Patrick is looking for words, Pete can tell. “I have my own struggles,” Patrick says after a while, with caution in his voice. “I’ve struggled with anxiety, and I struggle to let people in, and… There are just some issues that I need to work on. But I have professional help, I have my therapist, and I’m working hard on myself. It’s just… It’s just not always going to be easy, and… I just want you to know what you’re getting into…”

Patrick trails off, makes a helpless gesture with his hands as he looks at Pete with uncertainty in his beautiful blue eyes. Pete stops him from fidgeting by taking Patrick’s hands into his, and says: “You don’t need to worry. I know what it’s like to struggle with mental health, and I know it might not always be easy for both of us. We’ll figure it out, I know we will.”

“We will,” Patrick repeats softly, and a small smile lights up his face. “Yeah, we will.”

Next morning, when Pete wakes up, it takes him a moment to realize there’s someone else in his bed, and who that someone is. It feels good, waking up next to Patrick, he’s warm and soft and looks adorable when he’s sleeping, all pale skin, golden lashes, parted lips letting out quiet, steady breath. He groans when Pete gets up, groans again when Pete opens the curtains to let in the autumn sun.

“Get back to bed so we can cuddle,” Patrick mumbles, still half-asleep.

How can Pete resist, really? His new boyfriend is asking so nicely and the offer is so tempting. He lays down in bed again, opens his arms so Patrick can cuddle up to him. “Five more minutes, then I’ll need to walk the dogs.”

“Mhm, right, of course…” Patrick yawns, cuddles even closer to Pete. “Five more minutes, then we can all go on a walk together, how about that?”

Pete’s answer is a happy laugh and a kiss.

“A new boyfriend!” Bebe smiles brightly, doesn’t seem the least bit surprised. “I knew it! So, when do I finally get to meet this mysterious Patrick?”

“I don’t know. It’s all so fresh, really.” Pete can’t hide a happy grin as he thinks about Bebe’s words. Yes, he’d very much like Patrick to meet his friends, when Patrick is up for that. “Maybe at my little Halloween party? But give him time. Like I said, he’s a bit shy, okay?”

“Mhm…” Bebe cocks her head. “I thought he didn’t like Halloween. Or does he now? What’s he like? Did he take you home, or did you?”

At first, Pete wants to roll his eyes at Bebe’s (well, Pete has to admit, correct) assumption that they’ve already had sex, but something else makes him think twice.

“I… I’ve never been at his place,” Pete admits. He hasn’t really thought much about it, he’s been too busy falling in love, but it’s true. He’s never been at Patrick’s place. Patrick has never invited him, and Pete has never asked.

Bebe looks at him with wide eyes and raised brows, points a perfectly manicure finger at Pete. “You’ve never been at his place?! How? You’re neighbors, even! Why doesn’t he want to have you over? Does he have something to hide?” She lowers her voice. “Or, _someone_ to hide?”

“No way. Patrick isn’t like that,” Pete retorts with a hint of anger. Why can’t she just be happy for him for a moment before immediately turning negative? “He said it himself, he has trouble letting people in, and I know what it’s like. I won’t pressure him. I trust him.”

Somehow, Bebe manages to raise her brows even further, and her lips are drawn into a frown. She doesn’t say anything, but words aren’t needed to convey what she thinks of this. “You trust him,” she repeats, and sighs. “I reserve my judgment for after I actually get to meet him.”

Pete nods, and they change the topic; but in the very back of his mind, a place Pete doesn’t like to go, something ugly tugs at him.

The hint of doubt nags at Pete even when he’s back home, alone with his thoughts. It’s just Bebe being worried, Pete’s had some troubled relationships and bad habits, so she just wants to see him in good hands, right? Patrick can’t hide a blush each time Pete pays him a compliment, can’t hide a smile each time Pete kisses him, he couldn’t be a good enough liar to cover up an entire relationship. And they’ve spent so much time together, they’ve been out in public, when and where would he hide a second boyfriend? Plus, Mrs. Davison said no one ever really comes and visits Patrick, she would’ve noticed, Pete is sure.

Angry and annoyed, Pete shakes his head, and pushes these doubts out of his mind. It’s nonsense. It’s Bebe being overprotective. It’s an issue of communication and trust, both things Pete has been working hard on over the past years. He’s not going to ruin this relationship with past mistakes.

After their usual routine of an after-work walk with Belka and Strelka and the new addition of a blowjob on the couch when they get home, Pete is cuddling with his new boyfriend, comfortable as he holds Patrick’s warm body close to his. The taste of Patrick lingers on the tip of his tongue, makes Pete grin as he buries his face in the curve of Patrick’s neck. Patrick smells like sweat and sex, and it feels so good to hold him like this. To hell with his paranoia.

“You hungry, baby? Should we order in, or cook something? I don’t have much to offer, but it should be enough for some pasta.”

“Ah, yes, food sounds good...” Patrick chuckles, turns around to peck a kiss to Pete’s cheek. “Cooking sounds nice, actually.”

And as it turns out, Patrick is pretty decent at cooking, and he seems to have fun with it. “I missed this,” Patrick says as he watches the garlic and vegetables sizzle, “I missed cooking.”

Pete turns to him, slightly confused. “How come?”

Patrick blinks, looks like he regrets his words just a little. He pushes his glasses up, stares at the pan like it might have the answer. “It’s just. Cooking for one is depressing, isn’t it? And so much effort.” He lets out a nervous chuckle. “And I’ve had some trouble with my kitchen. It’s not working right now. I know, I should get it fixed...”

It doesn’t sound like a lie, but it doesn’t sound like the whole truth either.

“Well, please feel free to use mine whenever you want,” Pete offers generously and not without a tiny bit of selfishness – because the sauce Patrick is making smells very, very good, Pete would like to see what else Patrick can do – and Patrick chuckles, this time, for real.

When they sit down to eat, happy and relaxed and with delicious homemade food in front of them, Pete decides to asks a question that’s been on the tip of his tongue ever since his last talk with Bebe. “So, I know your kitchen isn’t working, but that’s all I know. When do I actually get to _see_ your place?”

Patrick turns pale, even paler than usual, intensely stares at his food rather than meeting Pete’s watchful gaze. He’s uncomfortable, that’s for sure. “It’s not you, it’s just – my apartment is… It’s a personal issue, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.” Pete doesn’t like to push, because usually, it just ends with him pushing people away from him, but he’d like an answer, at least one he can understand.

“It’s _my_ space all to myself in this crazy world. It’s the one place I feel – well, I feel secure. I feel _safe_. And letting people into that one tiny space on this big, big planet that gives me comfort, it scares me. It scares me immensely.” Patrick takes a moment to clear his throat and discreetly wipe his eyes. Finally, he looks at Pete, with caution and fear. “Does that sound like it makes any sense?”

“It sounds like it makes you very lonely,” Pete says quietly. It sounds strangely familiar, in a way. Pete remembers, the dark depth of depression when he’d shut himself in his room for days, weeks months, when anyone and anything daring to disturb him, be it a concerned friend or a ray of light falling through the curtains, had driven him mad. When his bed had been his whole kingdom, when shutting the door to shut everyone and everything off had felt so good.

Patrick sniffles, says nothing. Pete reaches out to put his hand on Patrick’s, searches for words; Patrick finds them first.

“You’re right, in a way. But, I’m trying my best,” Patrick mumbles after a while. “I’m trying my best, I have my friends, and now I have you, it’s just… Some things are so difficult.”

Pete squeezes his hand, waits, but Patrick doesn’t elaborate any further. Pete knows what Patrick says is true – Patrick is trying, he has a steady job, he has his hobbies and routine and his relationship with Pete, that takes a lot of effort, oh, Pete knows.

But, no matter how hard you try, it’s never going to be easy.

Pete squeezes Patrick’s hand again, sends him a small smile. “Hey. It’s fine. Whenever you’re ready.”

With a sigh, Patrick nods, squeezes Pete’s hand as well. “One day. Just give me a bit more time, please.”

“Damn. What’s so special about his apartment? He’s seen _your_ mess, there’s no way he can feel ashamed about whatever mess he lives in.” Joe looks at Gerard in search of approval. Gerard just shrugs, and Pete regrets the idea of a workplace friendship.

Pete frowns at Joe. “Hey, I’m not that bad, okay? It’s just a personal issue. Who cares. We’re still just getting to know each other.”

“Seriously. Serial killer vibes,” Gerard says, and the excitement in his voice is really worrisome. Pete thinks he’s only half joking. “Maybe he trashed his kitchen when he chopped up his victims? It’s not easy to dismember a human. I bet this will be some prime material for someone’s True Crime podcast…”

“Don’t talk about my boyfriend like that,” Pete only answers, although the glare he sends Gerard doesn’t seem to bother him at all. “He’s a good guy, and you’re just creepily obsessed with anything that could be a crime or a conspiracy theory.”

Again, Gerard doesn't seem to be bothered by the accusations, just shrugs with a knowing smile.

Joe points his pen at Gerard. “Nice try, Way. If anyone chops up people in their kitchen, it’s _you_.”

That makes Pete laugh, while Gerard only rolls his eyes, mumbles something about cliches and art teachers being underappreciated.

Serial killers and Gerard’s conspiracy theories are forgotten anyway when Pete meets Patrick in the evening. Patrick looks so cute with his blushing face half-hidden by his fedora and his scarf, so excited when he plays with Belka and Strelka, so full of joy whenever Pete and he kiss, and he’s already taken two adorable pictures of the dogs and one of the takeout coffee they bought.

Patrick likes to take pictures, Pete’s seen him take quite a few, but Patrick doesn’t have any active social media, at least none that Pete knows of. Bebe’s worried face flashes before Pete’s inner eye.

“Baby, can I ask… What do you actually _do_ with all these photos?” Pete inquires with curiosity as he watches Patrick scroll through his phone.

Although Pete tries to come off as casual, Patrick frowns. For a moment, Pete gets scared, memories of past mistakes playing before his inner eye, of ex-boyfriends accusing him of being paranoid, of therapy sessions about trust and that nagging little voice in the back of Pete’s head that always wants to assure him that everyone around him is out to hurt him.

“They’re mostly just for me. A memory, to remember.” Patrick speaks slowly, clutches his phone in his hands. Pete wants to say something, but Patrick shakes his head. “My mom had Alzheimer’s. It was a slow progress, but I saw her lose everything – her memories, her words, her sanity, _herself_. It was awful. It was so much pain for my mom. It made me anxious. It made me scared. Scared that one day, I’d lose myself as well, that my brain would betray me, and I want – I _need_ proof. Of me, of you, of everything – of reality. Just in case one day, I won’t know what that is anymore. That’s why I like to take a snapshot of every precious moment in life.”

“Oh,” Pete says softly, because nothing else comes to mind. “I didn’t know… I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Patrick says nothing, just fumbles with his phone, shoves it back into the pocket of his leather jacket. He takes off his glasses to wipe over his eyes, then turns to Pete, who awkwardly puts his hand on Patrick’s shoulder, unsure whether Patrick wants to be comforted right now. He wants to, because a moment later, Patrick clings to him, face buried in the curve of Pete’s throat. Pete hugs him back, holds him, whispers soothing words until Patrick stops sniffling.

“Thank you,” Patrick says afterwards; he wipes over his eyes again, and when he puts his glasses back on, there’s a tiny smile on his face. “It’s difficult to talk about this, but… I feel better now.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Hey, communication is important.” Pete smiles, too, leans in to peck a tender kiss to the cold tip of Patrick’s reddened nose. That Patrick is opening up to him like this feels like yet another important step for both of them. Really, there’s a rational explanation for everything, again, Pete pushes all of Gerard’s weird bullshit and all of Bebe’s overprotective worries out of his mind.

Patrick laughs, half-amused and half-relieved, and leans in for another kiss.

They come home with two happy dogs, and several bags of groceries. Cooking together has become yet another cherished ritual. And apart from that, Patrick insisted he still wants to donate some sweets for Halloween.

“Why don’t you come over to my place and we hand them out together?” Pete proposes as they put away the groceries. “We can celebrate Halloween together if you want to?”

Patrick fumbles with the bags. He’s bought the good stuff, not just the store-brand knockoff candy. “I have work,” he answers hesitantly. Somehow, Pete has the distinct feeling Patrick signed up for the shift on purpose – perhaps to escape questions like these.

“All day? Really? Who buys records or has music lessons on Halloween?” Pete tries not to sound too disappointed. “C’mon, it would be fun. We hand out some candy to the kids, and eat the leftovers ourselves.”

“Maybe in the evening?” Patrick is still hesitant. “I don’t have a costume though…”

“Oh, don’t worry, I have more than enough. Everything from wizards to space pirates to zombies, I can lend you something if you want.”

Pete already expects Patrick to decline, but to his surprise, Patrick takes a deep breath, then nods, determined. “Yeah, okay. Sounds like fun.”

“Awesome!” Pete grins, happy about his success, and decides to be brave enough to venture into even more difficult territory. “I’m also gonna throw a little party for Halloween. Nothing big, just some friends getting together, we’ll have a beer or two, order some pizza, and watch some movies. They’re dying to meet you! That is, if you want, of course.”

“Meet your friends...” Patrick takes another moment to think. “Yes, I like that. And I’m curious to meet them, too.”

“You don’t have to,” Pete assures him, but Patrick takes Pete’s hand into his, smiles.

“I know I don’t have to. But I want to. A small party sounds alright, and if it gets too much, I’ll need less than a minute to get home. It’s fine.”

In the end, they both dress in Ghostbusters outfits, matching each other. It’s cute, or at least that’s what Pete likes to think, really, Patrick looks adorable in it, and Pete kind of regrets that Belka and Strelka don’t have matching doggie costumes to complete the look. (Not for a lack of trying – Pete just knows from experience the two dogs aren’t comfortable with that.)

“Trick or treat,” they heart throughout the night; not too many people come over, it’s enough to still be fun, and not so much that it feels overwhelming. Patrick is coping well, he’s handing out candy with a smile, and none of the neighbors make any sort of demeaning comment about the weird, reclusive tenant suddenly showing up in a different apartment. Pete thinks it’s part politeness, and an even bigger part people genuinely not knowing who Patrick is. Not everyone can be Mrs. Davison, after all. Even Belka and Strelka do well, they look adorable even without a costume, and although they keep a watchful eye on the door, they don’t mind the strangers asking for candy too much.

“This is fun,” Patrick says softly as they watch a group of kids and parents leave, presumably of the last for tonight. “Really, I forgot how much fun this is.”

“Told you it would be,” Pete says, with a smile and a hint of irritation. Patrick’s been doing really well, he hasn’t been all that hesitant or shy, and so far, he really seems to have a lot of fun with Halloween. Why he doesn’t have a costume and doesn’t want to hang up some Halloween decorations, Pete doesn’t know.

Pete blames it on his wrong expectations, tells himself that Patrick is usually doing pretty good for himself outside of the comfort zone of his apartment (which, perhaps ironically, is the only place Patrick is having a lot of difficulties with), that trick or treating follows fairly well-known rules and social standards, doesn’t require much thought or effort besides handing out candy.

The more difficult part is when later in the evening, Pete’s friends arrive. Aside from Bebe, it’s old college buddies like Gabe and Travie, and new friends like Joe. Pete knows them well, they might all be loud and extroverted, but they’re good people and true to Pete’s expectations, they’ve engaged Patrick in a conversation shortly after being introduced. Thankfully, Joe doesn’t talk about any of Gerard’s weird murder conspiracies.

All seems to go well. Everyone is dressed up with varying degree of efforts, from a simple store-brought costume to Bebe’s elaborate skull make up, there’s pizza and beer and Pete feels the hint of careless fun and eternal youth that he’s always felt at college parties. Even if they’re all older now, and topics like weddings and children and tax deductions sneak into their conversations these days.

Bebe finally had her chance to talk to Patrick, who looked slightly intimidated by her (the make up probably didn’t help). Pete has been a bit nervous about the two of them meeting, a bit worried that Bebe might be too overbearing, but she goes surprisingly easy on him. Some friendly small talk, a conversation about music, nothing too out of the ordinary. Pete knows her well, knows Bebe is careful, circling Patrick like prey, ready to get her claws out should he make any mistakes. Luckily, Patrick doesn’t seem to notice.

“She’s nice. All your friends are nice,” Patrick whispers with just a hint of surprise and relief in his voice when they have a moment to themselves. Pete smiles, nods, he knows his friends are awesome, and Halloween sets a good mood – with costumes and leftover sweets to lighten the mood.

But the bright mood is about to darken when soon after, Bebe catches Pete alone, drags him away for a private chat.

“This went better than expected,” she states, and Pete knows already she’s talking about meeting Patrick for the first time. “He seems really nice, and fun to talk to. And he doesn’t come off as shy as you said he would be. I just… I don’t know. There’s something weird. Have you met _his_ friends?”

For a second, Pete considers lying, but Bebe is one of his best friends and also, he’s not that great a liar. “No, not yet.”

Bebe sighs, loudly and dramatically, slings her arm around Pete’s shoulder. “Petey, darling, please, I’m just trying to look out for you...”

“Our relationship is still so fresh! He only just met _my_ friends!” Pete sighs as well, lowers his voice. “I know you just want to look out for me, but all this does is make me feel anxious and paranoid, and that’s two emotions I sure don’t need any more of.”

Bebe nods, slowly, but she’s still frowning. “He seems nice, really. But it’s always the nice, quiet ones that surprise you, isn’t it?”

“That’s enough. You know what’s the problem with Patrick? You just don’t want to like him! I promise, if anything goes wrong, you’ll be the first to know. But for now, instead of worrying so much, can you please support me?”

“Okay. I will,” Bebe says with another sigh, then she presses a sloppy kiss to Pete’s cheek. “Take care of yourself, darling.”

“I always do,” Pete mumbles back, and he’s glad that Bebe ends this uncomfortable conversation when she drags him back to the party.

Later that night, the food is eaten, the Halloween decoration is still glowing in the dark, and Belka and Strelka are sleeping. Everyone is gone, but for Pete, the evening is far from over. Their costumes are discarded on the floor, and he has a naked Patrick laying in his bed, panting and looking up to him with big blue eyes; he shivers, moans when Pete slips a third finger into him. A moment later, Pete finds his prostate again, rubs over it until Patrick cries out with pleasure. Drops of precum leak from Patrick’s blood-red cock, but when Pete reaches for it, Patrick shakes his head.

“Don’t. You’re gonna make me come,” Patrick gasps. “And I – ah, I want to come when you fuck me…”

Pete grins, rubs over Patrick’s prostate once more, feels him tighten around his fingers as he moans, loudly. Pete could listen to him for hours, but well, Patrick motions impatiently towards the lube, and Pete’s dick is desperate to replace Pete’s fingers, to slide into Patrick and finally fuck him.

Pete grabs the lube, hesitates. He also has condoms, but when he asks Patrick about it, Patrick shakes his head.

“No. I want to feel you,” Patrick whispers softly, “I want you as close to me as possible…”

And damn, that makes Pete’s heart beat faster, and he’s pretty sure all the blood it’s pumping through his body actually goes straight to his cock. Especially when Patrick sits up a little, takes the lube from Pete to pour some over his own hand and slick him up. Pete can’t hold back a groan when Patrick’s skilled fingers work his dick, and he has to bite his lip and focus on not giving in to the very real temptation of just coming right now.

Then, Patrick leans back again, spreads his legs a little wider, laughs softly when Pete leans over him and whispers words of love and lust into his ear as he lines up with Patrick’s entrance. Fuck, Patrick feels so good, all tight heat around Pete’s dick and soft lips against Pete’s skin, all sweet moans and whines, all deep groans and desperate noises when Pete reaches for Patrick’s neglected dick trapped between their bodies.

They soon work out a rhythm together, bodies working in sync, flesh against flesh. Patrick smells of sex and sweat, his moans and gasps and mumbled words of lust and adoration make Pete shiver as he tries to hold back a little longer, or at least long enough to make Patrick come first. Pete picks up speed, cock slamming into Patrick’s prostate. Patrick’s heels dig into the small of his back, his hands are holding onto Pete’s hips, nails scraping over skin, and then Patrick moans Pete’s name as he finally falls apart, comes all over his stomach and Pete’s hand.

Pete hesitates, the question on his lips already, but Patrick answers it before Pete can even ask.

“You can come inside of me,” Patrick gasps as he drags Pete closer again, and it’s too fucking hot, and Pete too damn close. He follows Patrick’s demand just a few thrusts later, Patrick’s name on the tip of his tongue when he comes.

Pete takes a moment to kiss Patrick, before he lets his softening cock slide out of him. Pure bliss floods Pete when Patrick cuddles up to him, and just when Pete thinks it couldn’t be any more perfect, Patrick whispers: “I love you…”

And Pete doesn’t have to think twice about what to answer. “I love you too, baby.”

They clean up a little, and Patrick opts for some clean underwear and a t-shirt to sleep in. By now, he has a drawer with his clothes in Pete’s wardrobe, and his stuff spread all over the apartment – a toothbrush and toiletries, a phone charger, the book he’s reading right now, and just all the little things that make Patrick’s presence feel real, like he’s more than just a guest. It’s too early to think about moving in together, but Pete likes to imagine sometimes…

Next to him, Patrick yawns, and Pete chuckles. “We should get some sleep, baby. I have to get up early and take Belka and Strelka for a walk.”

“You know what I always wondered?” Patrick turns to Pete. His fingers absentmindedly trace over Pete’s tattoos, and he looks at Pete, thoughtfully. “ _Why_ did you pick those strange names for your dogs? Is there a story behind that?”

Pete stays silent, and Patrick waits, patiently.

“Space sounds gruesome, doesn’t it?” Pete speaks slowly, and the words weigh heavy on his tongue. “The stars sparkling looks so pretty, but… there’s just nothing. We can’t ever reach any of them. They look so close to us and are so out of reach, forever. The thought of a cold black void, of deadly, endless emptiness… It’s so fucking scary. It always reminds me of my own struggles with depression – when everything and everyone seemed out of reach and there was nothing, just _nothing_ aside from feeling cold and empty, with every source of light, life, and hope all light-years away from me.”

Pete pauses, closes his eyes as the memories flood him, send a cold shiver down his spine, make him want to curl up and scream just to see if he can still hear his own voice. But he can feel Patrick next to him, his body’s warmth and weight grounding Pete in reality, reminding him that there’s someone there, that someone can hear him talk, that he isn’t drifting through a never-ending emptiness. He’s here, on Earth, with Patrick, it’s fine, everything is fine. So instead of screaming, Pete takes a deep breath, and adds: “But these two brave creatures came back from space. Belka and Strelka survived, and they came back. I thought that was a beautiful metaphor.”

Thoughtful silence settles between them, only broken when Patrick says: “It _is_ a beautiful metaphor. A bit dark, perhaps, but… I get it.”

Pete smiles weakly. The coldness in his aching chest slowly fades when Patrick rests his head on it, his hand splayed out over Pete’s skin, a tender touch, warm and reassuring.

“I guess I’m scared of the opposite. Of not being able to move, of being crushed, of… Of something taking over, claiming everything around me until I suffocate,” Patrick whispers, and there’s something weird in his voice; he sounds serious. He sounds like he’s actually scared just thinking about this.

Surprised, Pete looks at him. “Hm… Are you claustrophobic?”

“No. No, that’s not it…” Patrick trails off, he’s struggling for words, but it seems he can’t find the right ones. There’s fear in his words, terror in his eyes that Pete can see, but not quite understand.

“Hey. It’s fine,” Pete tries to reassure him, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Patrick nods, although Pete doesn’t really feel like he’s said anything helpful, much less understood whatever Patrick can’t – or perhaps, doesn’t want to – share with him.

While Patrick falls asleep despite their scary pillow talk, Pete lies awake, stares at the ceiling. He can’t quite make sense of Patrick’s words, doesn’t know what it actually is that he fears, doesn’t know what to make of all of this.

The screen of Patrick’s phone lights up, announcing a message. And Pete doesn’t mean to pry, doesn’t mean to invade privacy, but he still glances at the screen. Someone named Vicky sent Patrick a message, a name Pete remembers, he’s certain that Patrick has talked about a Vicky before, said something about work and friendship. Bebe’s concerned face flashes before Pete’s inner eye, he hears her worried voice.

Pete bites his lip. He glances at the phone again. Patrick’s lock screen is a selfie of Pete and him kissing, and Pete knows the home screen is a photo Patrick took of Pete with his dogs. It’s cute. It very much looks like they’re a couple. It’s just…

The screen goes black, leaves Pete in the dark with an even more uneasy feeling.

“I’ve had so much fun,” Patrick says softly. They’re having breakfast in bed, meaning leftover pizza and more candy. “With everything. With dressing up, trick or treating, and even the party. And of course, you know…”

He blushes, a small grin on his beautiful lips, it’s clear he’s talking about the fact that they’ve had sex.

Pete manages to smile back, but truthfully, he’s been up the entire night, he’s antsy and slightly annoyed with everything and everyone, from Bebe’s little speech to Patrick’s weird fears to his hurtful habit of keeping Pete out of his life.

Pete is annoyed, but he also doesn’t want to ask when he gets to meet Patrick’s friends. He wants to be asked, wants Patrick to offer it himself. He hopes that if he sulks for a bit longer, Patrick will get the message. It sounds like a stupid plan, but Pete can’t think of a better solution.

The tension in the room is undeniable. Nervously, Patrick fumbles with the hem of his t-shirt, searches for words. He stumbles through a bit more awkward small talk, before he says: “And really. Your friends were so nice.”

Pete raises his brows, stares at Patrick who finally seems to get the passive-aggressive message. Patrick clears his throat, chuckles nervously. “Do you, uhm. Do you want to meet my friends, too?”

“ _Of course_ I want to,” Pete answers with perhaps a little too much force, “I don’t know why it’s so hard to believe, but I really want to be a part of your life.”

Patrick looks down, stares at the grease-stained, empty pizza box between them. “But my life can be such a mess,” he mumbles quietly.

“I know, and I don’t care. I meant what I said: I want to be part of your life, even if it’s messy and complicated sometimes. And I don’t like to feel like you want to leave me out of it.”

Patrick nods, takes a moment to think. “Fine. Tomorrow? Come pick me up from work? We can all go grab a drink.”

Pete sighs. He wants to ask if Patrick has been trying to give him a hint, if _he, Pete_ , the something that is suffocating Patrick. Instead, he says: “Alright, baby.”

The next day, Pete stands in front of the record store Patrick works at, for the first time. Just a visit to pick Patrick up from work, and finally, an opportunity to meet the people in Patrick’s life that aren’t Pete.

It’s a cute little store, with an interesting selection, everything from indie to underground, from regular records to expensive collectors edition vinyls.

Someone approaches him. Pete guesses it’s an employee, because he wears an obscure band shirt and a name tag that says _Andy_. He’s also wearing gym shorts and sunglasses, indoors. Pete thinks this Andy guy is looking at him, but it’s hard to tell.

“Are dogs allowed in this store?” Pete asks, out of routine.

Andy lowers his gaze to look at Belka and Strelka, and there actually seems to be something resembling a smile on his lips. “Sure, dogs are cool with me.”

The dogs are cool with Andy, too, they let him pet them, even. His calmness must extend to every other living creature close to him, Pete decides.

“Awesome. Uhm, I’m looking for Patrick?”

Only now does Andy look at him again, and he raises his eyebrows slightly. “Huh. Of course. I guess you’re Pete, then?”

As soon as Andy says that, another employee appears next to him; his name tag reads William. He stares at Pete, then the dogs, then Pete again. “No way. It’s really him!”

“Patrick has been talking a lot about you,” Andy explains to Pete, which makes Will laugh, and roll his eyes.

“Oh yeah, he sure has. And all the photos he’s been showing off! Ugh, he’s so in love with you, and guess who has to listen to his lovesick little talks about his oh so wonderful boyfriend all day.” Will’s fond smile belies his stern words as he points towards himself, as it it wasn’t clear that he is the one listening to Patrick all day. Pete has the distinct feeling Andy would have a more fun time talking to Belka and Strelka rather than listen to someone’s lovesick sentimentality.

Pete has no chance to answer him, because William throws his arm over Pete’s shoulder, and drags him towards the counter. “Hey Patrick, look, it’s your boyfriend!”

While Patrick blushes even more than usual, he greets Pete with a kiss and a big smile. Pete waits and watches as Patrick grabs his stuff, banters with Will, says goodbye to Andy, who declines the offer to join them, and seems sadder that the two dogs are leaving. Patrick sneaks his hand into Pete’s, whispers: “Let’s go,” and Pete wonders why he ever worried so much in the first place.

They take a quick detour to leave Belka and Strelka back home after a nice little walk. Will talks most of the time, he talks a lot, only stops to laugh or ask Pete a question about himself. He’s nice though, easy to be around, and Pete feels how he relaxes.

At the cafe Patrick guides them to, they also meet Vicky and Brendon. Vicky reminds Pete of Bebe with the ways she smiles and looks at him, not yet sure whether she wants to hug him or hiss at him. She casually asks about the Halloween party, and it dawns on Pete that the reason she texted Patrick late at night was nothing but concern on her part.

And after a while, Patrick seems relaxed, seems like his usual self. He laughs, he talks, he takes a couple of pictures. Everyone seems to know a lot about Pete already. Apparently, Will isn’t the only one who listened to Patrick gushing about Pete. It’s a cute thought, makes Pete smile when he thinks about Patrick, blushing like he always does, excitedly talking about _him_ , Pete. No, it doesn’t seem like Pete is taking up too much space, or suffocating him, that’s nothing more than Pete’s own overthinking of a silly little misunderstanding.

“Really, it’s so great to meet you,” Brendon says to Pete, then he turns to Patrick. “Now that we got to meet your boyfriend, we’re waiting for the invitation to your housewarming party! It’s only been two years, you know.”

Patrick turns cherry-red, mumbles something Pete doesn’t understand. Vicky puts a hand on Patrick’s shoulder, a soothing gesture. “It’s fine,” she says, more to Patrick than to Brendon, “c’mon, stop the teasing…”

She says something else, and then everyone is laughing and the topic changes to something less controversial. But Pete isn’t really listening, because basically, what Brendon said implies that even Patrick’s friends haven’t been at his place since – well, since never, it seems.

Patrick laughs at something Will says, and reaches for Pete’s hand, squeezes it. Pete squeezes back, manages to chuckle. When he glances at his boyfriend, looks at the well-known curve of his lips, his beautiful blue eyes, the way he smiles and the way he looks back at Pete with love and adoration, all Pete can find in his heart is love.

But all Pete can find in the depth of his brain is the one question that’s been bugging him for weeks now.

Just what the fuck is really the issue with Patrick’s apartment?

It’s the question Pete doesn’t ask. Why should he? Patrick has answered it already, with all the irrationality that suggests Pete there just isn’t a logical explanation other than whatever insanity a human brain can come up with. Patrick doesn’t want to let people in, be it friends or lovers. There’s got to be a reason, Pete just doesn’t know it, doesn’t understand, and it starts to drive him mad.

“Maybe he’s the next Ed Gein. Maybe, he makes belt buckles out of skin and drinks from a skull cup,” Gerard argues, because of course, he isn’t done with the topic. It’s Monday morning, which is awful already, and Gerard is fueled by caffeine and has endless creativity for more obscure theories.

Joe, who’s actually met Patrick by now, shakes his head. “Dude, seriously. That's messed up. And I told you, Patrick is a cool guy. Knows a lot about music and movies. I really liked him.”

It’s Gerard’s turn to shake his head, and triumphantly point out: “It’s always the one you don’t suspect!”

“This isn’t a goddamn horror movie,” Pete counters, takes a sip from his own coffee. “You’re starting to creep me out, Way. If anything, _you’re_ the one who’s suspicious.”

“No, I think I’d be the one who gets killed first.” Gerard sounds very serious, like this is a question he’s given a lot of thought already.

“Just don’t listen to anything he says,” Joe says to Pete, who only groans in response.

Pete doesn’t know what bothers him more: That Gerard keeps talking about his boyfriend like he’s some C-list horror movie monster, or that he feels a hint of fear, the shadow of insecurity at Gerard’s words.

“So you two talked, he listened to you, and hey, he has nice, normal friends. That’s good.” Bebe is lounging on Pete’s couch, Belka on her lap, while Strelka is cuddling up to Pete. “I’m proud of how you handle all this, and that you two seem to actually communicate. I guess Patrick isn’t as bad as I thought. Still a bit weird, but… I guess I can live with weird.”

Pete says nothing. The jealousy he’s felt, the fear that there might be someone else in Patrick’s life, no, he’s long stopped worrying about that. Pete trusts him. Patrick loves him, and him alone, Pete is sure. No, that’s not what’s bothering him.

Patrick is so sweet. Patrick is so cute. Patrick loves Pete, Patrick loves his dogs, they get along well with their friends. Patrick plays on Pete’s old guitar and sings until Pete falls asleep, cooks for him, holds Pete’s hand when he’s had a bad day. They can talk about almost everything, for hours, Patrick always listens and takes him seriously. The sex is fantastic.

Really, it’s just Patrick’s stupid, stupid apartment. That innocuous, anonymous white door that stays firmly closed. Being out of reach for Pete just makes it all the more interesting. And after everything they shared in the past months, what is it that makes it so hard for Patrick to trust Pete?

He knows what Bebe would advise him – she’d tell him to talk to Patrick. And really, so far, that’s always helped solve their issues and misunderstandings. Maybe, Pete is making this more complicated than it already is.

Yeah, talking sounds good.

The new year is already over a month old, and Winter still firmly rules over Chicago. Snow covers the city, the once pristine white now mostly a dirty gray. It matches the dark clouds that barely ever let any sunshine through. It matches Pete’s mood today, he feels gray and anxious, too.

Patrick is with him, and it’s like every other day, really. Nothing out of the ordinary. They braved the weather to go on a walk with Belka and Strelka, they made dinner together, they watched a movie. Nothing out of the ordinary.

It’s dark outside, the lights of the city the only touch of color against the black sky. Pete has lit some candles, mostly because he thought it would be romantic, but Patrick has been eyeing them anxiously the whole time, like they might cause a big fire any second now.

“Patrick, I promise, it’s going to be fine,” Pete says at some point, slightly irritated. “It’s just some candles. There’s nothing flammable nearby, Belka and Strelka won’t mess with them, and I’ll make sure to blow them out before we go to bed.”

“I guess it’s fine.” Patrick is a bad liar, and his strained smile gives him away immediately. “It’s just, I’d never dare to light a candle in my apartment…”

“Oh, really? Why?” Pete expects a normal answer, something about Patrick being scared of fire or anything. And it very much looks like Patrick wants to answer, but then he doesn’t. Something is off, he’s a broken record, an actor with the next line of his dialog smudged and illegible, he just looks at Pete and each moment of silence fuels Pete’s irritation.

Pete knows it’s not the right thing to do, but he can’t take it any more, and all the insecurity and doubts and anger of the past months culminate at this very moment when he yells: “Just what the fuck is _wrong_ with your stupid fucking apartment?!”

Startled now, Patrick struggles for words. But the truth is out, and Pete can’t hold back.

“I’ve really had enough of this,” Pete admits, and it feels so good to finally say it out loud. “What’s so important, what’s so secret that I don’t ever get to see it? What is it you can’t show me? We’ve been in a relationship for months now, you have a job and friends and to me, it looks like you are doing pretty well – so what is it with this damn apartment? Why, just _why_ can’t you _really_ let me in?”

The silence is deafening. Patrick is still staring at him, mouth open, without saying anything. Each passing second makes Pete’s heart ache.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Pete says quietly, pleading, almost. “Tell me it’s nothing.”

For a moment, it looks like Patrick wants to fight, wants to yell back, wants to push Pete away from him as far as possible; flee back into the safety, or whatever else his apartment may give him. But when he speaks up, his voice is shaking, not from anger, but from fear. “It’s not nothing. In fact, it’s _too much._ ”

Pete wants to ask what that means, and what exactly there is too much of. Pete wants to ask if he even wants to know the answer. Pete wants to know if it’s better to go back and pretend he never asked. Pete doesn’t ask, because Patrick speaks up first.

“Fine. I’m going to invite you over. But I am sure the first time will also be the last time.”

Pete narrows his eyes. “I think I’ll decide that for myself.”

Patrick sends him a shaky smile, but doesn’t object.

Belka and Strelka watch as Pete closes the door behind them, then follows Patrick into unknown territory.

The door to apartment 85F looks like every other door. Pete stares at it while Patrick fumbles with the keys.

When the door finally opens, darkness lies behind it. The dim light of the hallway barely illuminates the entrance. It is still enough to make Pete realize just what exactly he is seeing as he stumbles into Patrick’s apartment.

Well, what Pete can make out is that it’s sensory overload. It’s – it’s – well, Pete doesn’t know, because it’s _so much_. The best he can come up with is that there is _stuff_ , and there is _so much of it_ , Pete doesn’t even know where to begin. Patrick turns on the light, but that only makes it worse.

Cardboard boxes, some closed, some opened, spilling their content over the floor and burying the furniture. Plastic bags, some full, some empty. Clothes, so many clothes, pieces of fabric, everything from shirts to bed sheets. Cleaning utensils that can’t be used because there isn’t a single empty surface to actually clean. Books, some neatly stacked, some toppled over. Stacks of magazines and old newspapers and sheets of paper everywhere. Stacks of dishes, plates, cups, and Tupperware. There might be shelves and a table, maybe a chair or two, but seemingly every little bit of space is crammed with – well, with anything imaginable.

“Patrick,” Pete says in a thin voice, “Patrick, please, what the hell _is_ all this? Why do you have all this _stuff?_ ”

Patrick crosses his arms over his chest, stares at – well, not the floor, because aside from a small path through the mess, the floor is cluttered up beyond belief.

Pete wants to take a step back, but there’s nowhere to go. There’s so much plunder in the way, it’s hard to navigate. Under the harsh light of the single naked light bulb illuminating the room, it all looks utterly absurd. It looks like it’s taken straight from a _Hoarders_ episode, which somehow only makes it even more surreal. Because these sort of things belong on a TV screen, neatly cut down to a viewer-friendly experience, these are things that just don’t actually happen outside the realms of reality TV.

Except, Pete is standing here, and his senses don’t play a wicked trick on him. It doesn’t just look like an overbearing mess. It also smells like dust, smells like that strange smell of an old attic, with the scent of old paper, old clothes, and everything else coming together into a strange yet weirdly specific odor.

“Not all of it belongs to me,” Patrick finally whispers. He’s still not looking at Pete. “Most of it is my mom’s. She, uhm. I mean, I guess you can tell. It’s been like this all my life.”

Patrick gestures towards the mess in front of them, and Pete realizes that Patrick’s mother must have suffered from compulsive hoarding disorder, that Patrick probably grew up in a place that looked equally awful, if not worse, that he’s used to this in a way Pete isn’t.

“I had it under control. I’m not as bad as my parents,” Patrick continues as he stares at the never-ending clutter in front of them. “But then, my mom, she died, and…. I told you, didn’t I? She had Alzheimer’s, and it was bad. I saw her lose everything, and then I lost her, and I – I was so scared. All this is what my mom gathered during her life, it’s what she kept close to her, it’s what she loved and cherished, it’s a part of her and I can’t, I just can’t throw it away, because – it feels like losing her all over again.”

Pete feels numb as he listens to these words, followed by Patrick breaking out into a small sob. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Pete asks, which tears Patrick out of his tears, makes him scoff.

“What was I supposed to tell you? That I’m a totally dysfunctional freak? That I’m absolutely _disgusting_?!” Patrick wipes over his eyes, and for the first time since they entered his apartment, he looks at Pete, with shame, anger, embarrassment. “I’m not stupid, you know. I know this is terrible. I _know_ this is horrible, I _know_ this is insane, I _know_ that this is unacceptable and repulsive, and I – I thought I could manage. I have help and support, I thought I could get it back under control again. I thought I could get it cleaned up before you grew suspicious. I thought that falling in love with you would help me finally take another step forward and be fucking normal for once. I thought… I thought you deserved better.”

Pete doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing. Silent tears stream down Patrick’s face as he turns away again. Pete kind of wants to reach out and comfort him, and kind of wants to run out and escape this terrifying, suffocating mess. He ends up doing neither.

Instead, Pete dares to venture a little further. Behind another stack of books, he can make out a bed, or at least a mattress, which against all odds isn’t cluttered up completely. Next to it, Pete can see another damn cardboard box, in it, the tell-tale red of Patrick’s favorite cardigan, neatly folded away. It seems that even inside all this chaos, Patrick has managed to keep some sort of odd order.

“I’m doing better,” Patrick insist, stubbornly almost, as if he could read Pete’s thoughts. “I managed to clean up enough to have a bed, my bathroom is clean and functional, and I keep a box with my clothes and one with all my important documents. I don’t keep food or anything else that easily grows moldy. At work, it’s been going well, no one has ever complained. Our house management hasn’t found out it yet. I’m sure they’d throw me out if they knew…”

Pete nods; slowly, Patrick’s words start to make some sense at least. Actually, a lot of things start to make sense.

Patrick never opened the door when Pete first tried to reach out to him because he was scared. Patrick doesn’t mind Pete’s own mess because it’s nothing compared to _this_ , nothing compared to what Patrick must’ve grown up with. Patrick doesn’t have a pet, despite being utterly enchanted with Belka and Strelka, because he’s too responsible to bring a pet into this mess. Patrick doesn’t decorate anything, because even if he miraculously ever found any sort of decoration somewhere in this mess, calling any more attention to this health hazard could easily end in eviction. Patrick doesn’t have a Halloween costume because he barely has his everyday clothes saved from sliding back into the void of plastic bags and chaos. Patrick doesn’t do trick or treating because it would mean people could find out about his secret, it could mean trouble, and it’s just easier to keep hiding. Patrick doesn’t cook, because as far as Pete can tell, his kitchen is crammed with everything but kitchen utensils, and is rendered completely unusable by piles and piles of junk. Patrick doesn’t light candles because if anything here catches fire, it’s going to be life-threatening, and it’s going to be borderline impossible for any emergency worker to find a way through this maze. Patrick doesn’t invite anyone over, because he’s ashamed. Patrick loves him, and he’s scared to lose Pete now that he’s found out his dark secret.

And it dawns on Pete what Patrick talked about the night of Halloween: Patrick is scared of tight spaces and being suffocated because all this mess has taken over his life already, and threatens to slowly drain every bit of life that's left left out of him. And yet, there is a strange, twisted sense of security to all of it, a messed-up sense of safety because no one else is intruding into Patrick’s personal space (no matter how small that space may be), and having all these items around him, passed down from his mother, gathered over the years – Pete can’t claim he understands it, it’s not logical, but within the irrational rules Patrick has set for himself, yes, it makes sense.

Tears burn in Pete’s eyes as well, though he’s not even sure _why_ he is crying. Meanwhile. Patrick’s tears are silent, his shoulders tense, his face hidden behind trembling hands.

This is the point where Pete has two options: He can slowly walk away, leave Patrick and all this baggage – literal and metaphorical – behind him forever. Judging from Patrick’s earlier words, Patrick would let him go quietly, he wouldn’t scream or fight. And then, they’d just be strangers again, anonymous neighbors, nothing more. Painful, but quick, heartbreaking, but simple.

Or, Pete stays, realizes that what even though he’d been intentionally vague, Patrick has told him nothing but the truth at the very beginning of this relationship: He has his issues to work through, problems not yet solved no matter how much he hoped that love alone could be a simple solution. That it’s not going to be easy, and that he really has trouble letting people in. Well, the cynical part of Pete now thinks that’s quite literal.

Pete doesn’t know what’s the right thing to do. What _feels_ right, though, is to take Patrick into his arms, hold him close as Patrick cries into Pete’s shirt. What feels right is to peck a tender kiss to Patrick’s forehead, mumble soothing words as Patrick finally calms down a little.

“I know it’s stupid, but I can’t just throw all this away,” Patrick manages to bring out between two muffled sobs after a while, “if all of this is gone, then what is left of my mom? If all of this is gone, then what is left of _me_? If one day, my brain starts to fail me, how will I know – how will I remember…?”

Patrick is scared, he’s really, really scared, that much Pete can tell, and it makes his heart ache to hear Patrick talk like that. “That’s why you take the pictures, don’t you? That seems like a good solution.”

Patrick brings out something between a sob and a chuckle. “That’s true. My therapist suggested that, actually. So that I can keep a memory of everything, but I don’t have to keep the actual stuff. And it works, mostly, I’m happy with it, I have my photos, it’s just – it’s just...”

“You had me worried,” Pete admits as he pulls Patrick a little closer. He doesn’t admit what exactly he’s been worrying about, because he thinks that deserves a separate in-depth talk. “To be honest, all this worries me even more. It looks dangerous. What if any of these heavy boxes crash down on you? What about mold and dust and your asthma? What about your happiness, your future? Do you want to hide in here forever?”

“No, that’s not what I want,” Patrick answers, and it’s clear he means it. “But I… I…”

Patrick trails off, but he’s calmed down a little, the tears have stopped when he takes a step back, looks at Pete with his gorgeous blue eyes. He’s said his part for now, has lifted the last secret that had been looming over them, and it takes one look at Patrick and the mess around them to know where they are standing. Pete knows him well enough to know Patrick isn’t lying, there are small steps from therapy to taking pictures to venturing outside his comfort zone to find love. But standing among the chaos of a messy life, Pete also knows it’s a work in progress, with the first steps taken already, but a long journey still in front of them. The question Patrick only dares to ask silently is whether Pete wants to come with him, or if this is where they part ways.

And the truth is, Pete doesn’t know what’s the right thing to do, if there even is a right thing to do. He doesn’t have an answer. The path in front of him is dark and unknown.

Pete only knows the way he _wants_ to go. And that is taking a step forward, towards the man he loves, and taking Patrick’s hands into his as he says: “I love you. I meant what I said, baby. We’ll figure it out, we can do it, I know we can.”

“We can,” Patrick repeats softly, and through his tears, a small smile tugs at his lips. “Oh Pete, I love you, too…”

Autumn paints the city golden, the sky above it a pale blue.

Pete has put up his Halloween decorations weeks ago already. It’s a slight variation of last year’s theme, the skeleton now wears torn-up clothes and some fake blood, the tape across the door reads “Caution – Zombie Zone!”, and they’ve tried to carve a skull shape into the pumpkins.

Further down the hallway, the door to 85F is decorated in the same style.

Most of it is Pete’s stuff, because all Patrick has found so far are several boxes of his mother’s Christmas decoration, and his therapist strictly advised against indulging in buying anything that isn’t strictly necessary – it’s just easier to have Pete help out, and not having to worry about yet another box of stuff to take care of.

Pete has picked out the matching costumes, of course, and he’s managed to convince Patrick to sit down for what feels like hours to do a test run of the zombie make up. Patrick has to admit, while he’s not a big fan of elaborate make up, the result looks rather amazing. Not as amazing as Pete’s brilliant smile and the excitement in his amber eyes, but still.

“I think we bought way too much candy,” Patrick says as he puts down the grocery bags on the kitchen counter.

“There is no such thing as too much candy,” Pete only answers. “Plus, we get to eat all the leftovers.”

Belka and Strelka follow them into the kitchen, tail-wagging and eager for a treat after the long walk. Patrick loves them dearly, but even though his life has improved a lot over the course of a year, a pet still feels like too much responsibility. Deep down, Patrick is scared to end up being unable to resist all the cute puppy eyes he might encounter at the shelter, he’s scared that he might end up with a dozen animals that he can’t ever properly care for, like he knows some people with hoarder tendencies do. Perhaps, one day…

It’s not been a magical transformation. Love alone has not solved Patrick’s problems – although, Pete has been a been a big support for him.

Most of the chaos is gone, Patrick has a kitchen, bath, and bedroom, and he’s paid good money to a cleaning company to get it this clean. He also pays for a storage unit still full of stuff he hasn’t yet found the energy to go through. He can keep his clothes in an actual wardrobe now, can sit down at the table to eat, the kitchen can be used without the immediate danger of burning down the house. Several cardboard boxes still take up space in the living room, half-heartedly hidden away under a blanket, and he and Pete argue about it sometimes, but not so much it’s overbearing. Patrick has several hard-drives full of photos, but at least those don’t take up much space. He has recently started to print them out and hang them on the now visible walls, and it’s a struggle not to fall back into old habits, print out all of them and start obsessively collecting them. Patrick is still scared that one day, his memories could slowly slip away.

Patrick still keeps a small box with some of his mom’s most personal items in his apartment. It holds items like the jewelry she used to wear daily, photos of her family she kept on her walls or in her wallet, and some items that might seem like trinkets but still hold a special meaning, like tickets stubs to an amusement park or a Christmas card Patrick made her in 3 rd  grade. Dealing with losing her is still a struggle.

Patrick still dreams of narrow spaces, of piles and piles of clutter toppling over and crushing him, he dreams of slowly suffocating and wakes up with an aching chest and tears in his eyes.

It’s not always been easy, but Patrick has to admit, the changes he feared so much were worth the effort. 85F now feels like a place where he can actually _live_ , and not just exist.

Aside from candy, they’ve bought everything needed for Patrick’s housewarming slash Halloween party. It’s only been three years, but Brendon said better late than never, Will has annoyed Andy with endless chatter about the party, and Vicky has hugged him and told him she’s proud. Pete’s friends are coming as well, it’s going to be a bit crowded, but Patrick doesn’t mind – he feels ready.

Pete’s hand on his hip tears Patrick out of his thoughts. Patrick turns around, meets Pete’s lips for a tender kiss. That Pete, wonderful, sweet, beautiful Pete, decided to stay, decided to support him and help work through all this quite literal baggage Patrick brought into their relationship – sometimes, Patrick can’t believe he ever got so lucky.

“I love you,” Patrick whispers when they part, and the way Pete smiles at him makes his heart skip a beat, especially when paired with the sweet, sweet words Pete whispers in response.

“I love you too, baby.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, everyone! <3
> 
> Guess who is working through personal issues through fanfic again? Is it me?! Well, kinda, maybe. It's only taken years to clean out my grandfather's room (as well as the basement and attic, which was also full of his stuff) and we still find old electronics, food items that expired long before I was born, and paperwork that no one needs anymore. It's a difficult topic, especially paired with Alzheimer's, mortality, and keeping the memory of a loved one. Either way, life is strange and sometimes we just need to indulge in writing fanfics about it. 
> 
> Oh, and Belka and Strelka really existed, and they really were the first dogs - well, Earth-born creatures, even - to go into orbit and return alive.
> 
> I hope you had fun reading this little fic, and don't forget to check out all the other awesome entries for the challenge!


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